


Forget-Me-Not

by Robottko



Series: One-Shots and Ficlets and Prompts, Oh My! [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sherlock flirting, and John being shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is in an accident and loses the last eight years of his memory, John must come to terms with the fact that his best friend doesn't know him anymore. His biggest worry, however, is how Sherlock will react when John comes for a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [shady-brain-farm](http://shady-brain-farm.tumblr.com/) for their [Johnlock AU post](http://shady-brain-farm.tumblr.com/post/66970608620/sherlock-au). I know it's not exactly what you were thinking of, but I hope it sort of tides you over until a real author decides to write your idea!

"Please tell me Sherlock's alright." John begged as soon as reached the front desk of the hospital. "Where is he? Is he okay?" 

"Ah, Doctor Watson." A doctor said, not giving the receptionist a chance to answer him. "Mr Holmes told us that we should be expecting you."

"Sherlock?" John asked, sighing in relief.

An unreadable expression crossed the doctor’s face before settling into a pleasantly blank expression. It was an expression John knew quite well; it was an expression he had used when telling soldiers that they were going to live, but that an appendage had been amputated. 

"No. Mycroft Holmes." The doctor explained. "He's still with his brother, but he wanted to let you know that you're allowed to visit Sherlock." 

"Good." John said, barely managing to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Now how is he doing?"

"Doctor Watson." The doctor began sombrely. "Mr Holmes is healing quite well for someone that was hit by a car. The injuries are surprisingly minimal, a few bruises, a couple of minor lacerations, but other than that, he is physically well."

"Physically?" John asked, knowing there was a 'but' in there somewhere. "What happened?"

"When Sherlock woke up, he was understandably dazed, and at first we weren't concerned. However, when we began to converse with Sherlock, it was obvious that there was something wrong."

"I'm a doctor." John interrupted, his heart pounding in worry. "You don't need to coddle me. Tell me what happened."

"Sherlock is under the impression that its 2005. He has amnesia, and has no recollection of you or your time together."

 

* * *

 

  

John stared through the observation window at the dark haired detective. He was currently in a heated argument with his brother, and not bothering to keep his voice down.

"I've been clean for a year. I don't know why you insist upon keeping me captive in this hospital room." Sherlock snapped, glaring up at Mycroft.

"If you would use basic observation, you would realise that that's not why you are here." Mycroft said patiently. "Now pull yourself together, you have a friend here to see you."

"I don't have friends." Sherlock replied. It was without malice, a statement of fact more than anything. 

“As I’ve told you, you have forgotten approximately eight years of your life.” Mycroft said.

“And as I’ve told you,” Sherlock snipped back. “There is no possible way that I could have amnesia. My brain works at a higher rate than the average idiot, and simply being hit by a car wouldn’t be enough to forget a few years. I didn’t even break a bone!”

Mycroft sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he turned around. “You’re…guest is here, and I suggest being polite to him.” And before Sherlock could respond, Mycroft had swept out of the room.

“Doctor Watson.” Mycroft greeted John as soon as the door clicked shut. “I am sure that I don’t need to inform you of Sherlock’s condition.”

“I saw.” John sighed. “He can’t remember me at all…how well do you think he’ll take it when I tell him that I’m his flatmate?”

Mycroft gave John a searching look before speaking. “I do not know. He will be able to see that you are telling the truth, so I know he will be confused.”

“Right.” John rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Well, wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it.” Mycroft said. “I shall leave you two alone.”

John watched as Mycroft disappeared before turning back around, glancing once more at Sherlock through the observation glass. He sucked in a breath, walking towards the door, opening it silently. He was terrified because Sherlock wouldn’t recognise him, wouldn’t remember the years they spent solving cases together, laughing at crime scenes like a couple of kids. He was worried Sherlock would see the man that he was before they met, an invalid, someone not worthy of the great genius’s time. John let out a huff of a laugh, trying to suppress the longing feelings for his best friend that seemed to grow stronger by the day.  

Sherlock turned to look at him, the laugh alerting him to a new visitor, and both eyebrows shot up in response. John could almost hear the deductions popping up in the Consulting Detective’s mind, and he tried not to squirm too much under the scrutiny, offering Sherlock a nervous smile.

“Oh goodness…you’re stunning.” The deep baritone rumbled through the room. It took John a few seconds to processes the words, so relieved to have Sherlock speaking to him.

“I…what?” He managed to croak out, his neck growing warm in what he assumed was a blush.

“You’re stunning.” Sherlock repeated, a small smile forming on his face. “You’re a doctor, but clearly not on duty, and my brother mentioned that I would be having a friend come visit me. You must be him.”

“Yes.” John nodded, ignoring the first bit of Sherlock’s sentence and focusing on the deductions. After all, Sherlock couldn’t possibly find him _stunning._ Perhaps the detective was just having a laugh. “It’s good to hear you making deductions. Perhaps you’ll be back to your usual self quicker than we thought, and we’ll be able to go home-”

“Home?” Sherlock perked up, smile growing wider. “You used the word as if it applies to both of us. So you live with me? Are we lovers? Though I’m not entirely sure how I convinced you to date me. I would suggest that you were an actor, hired by my brother to straighten me out, but I can see you’re not lying…”

The flush that had originally started on John’s neck spread across his face at Sherlock’s line of thought, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times in response, feeling immensely like a fish.

“No…we’re not lovers.” John cut Sherlock’s ramblings off. “We just…we’re flatmates. A couple years back we were both desperate for a flatshare…and I moved in.”

“Not lovers?” Sherlock looked disappointed. “Oh…shame.”

“Not funny, Sherlock.” John shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish…”

“You truly are beautiful.” Sherlock replied easily, watching John with hunger. “You don’t seem to believe it, however. Something happened that convinced you that you weren’t handsome. An accident?”

John remained silent, unsure of what to say, and Sherlock grinned in triumph, continuing his deductions. “An accident it is, then. You’re a doctor…but not just that, you’re an army doctor. War wound, my guess is the left shoulder judging by the way you hold yourself.” Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze locked on John. “So you’re intelligent and beautiful. A lethal combination.”

John shook his head, unable to stop the smile that tugged at his lips. “Christ, you’re amazing.” He said, pleased when Sherlock’s eyes widened ever so slightly at his praise.

“You really think so?” He asked, and John chuckled.

“Always have, you git.” He said fondly, Sherlock tilting his head curiously at the tone.

“We never…”

“No, Sherlock. We were never lovers.” John replied, and he knew Sherlock could see the remorse on his face.

“Hm. Pity.” Sherlock said. “You’re attracted to me, and I’m obviously attracted to you. What held us back?”

“You weren’t attracted to me when you knew me.” John kept his voice even. Sherlock, however, rolled his eyes at that.

“Of course I was.” Sherlock said. “You are the handsomest man I have ever seen. I would have to be brain-dead not to notice that. I am assuming that I was worried you didn’t reciprocate my sentiment, thus keeping silent.”

“But you can tell that I’m attracted to you right now.” John replied. “Why wouldn’t you have been able to tell before?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock said. “Though I can assume I was worried that I was wishing that you felt a certain way, and subsequently read the signs wrong. I have never had a friend before, and to lose one would be devastating, so I would have kept quiet about any feelings I had for you. While I still had that worry a few minutes ago, I found I was unable to keep silent about your aesthetic beauty, and I was pleased to discover that your body reacted in the correct ways.”

John laughed, rubbing at his face, wishing the embarrassed warmth would go away. “You don’t even remember my name? How do you know my body was reacting in the correct ways?”

“Please.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I can always tell when someone is aroused. It’s part of my line of work. Now tell me your name….we do live together, after all.”

“John.” John said softly, shaking his head. “John Watson.”

“John.” Sherlock repeated, savouring his name in his mouth. “Let me take you out for dinner.”

John laughed, nodding slowly. “Fine. It’s not like we haven’t gone out for dinner before.”

“Dating without actually dating?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “How woefully stupid of us both. We must remedy this.”

“Fine, but when you get your memory back and are completely disgusted with everything that’s happened, it’s not my fault.” John replied.

“Oh, that won’t happen.” Sherlock said with a small smirk, and with a quickness that should have been impossible in a man who had been hit by a car that very afternoon, he leaned forward, fisting a hand in John’s jumper and pulling him down to his level. “I intend to make you mine.”

And with that, Sherlock pressed his lips against John’s, the warmth of his mouth pushing away any of John’s weak protests.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on my iPod, and was neither brit-picked, nor beta'd. So I would love it so much if you point out any mistakes. Thank you so much for reading!


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